The leaves are beginning to turn in Vermont. The supple greens wane and are replaced by sprawling orange, yellow, and crimson hues. The days are getting shorter, and soon the leaves will wither and die and fall to the base of the tree-trunk. Occasionally a gust of wind as cold as ice will kick them up and upwards where they’ll flutter onto peoples cars, or onto the sidewalk where they’ll be crunched underfoot by the peregrinations of little townsfolk.
The last time the crew and I were in Windsor, VT, it was to do an exclusive feature on an otherwise overlooked DSFL prospect: Wasrabi Gleel, linebacker for Dartmouth College’s Big Green. He and Defensive Tackle Sheed Thebaw were the only two prospects in the state, and being that we were leaving from New York, we had to get an early start on the day.
This time around things were different--well, no that’s not exactly true. There was an overwhelming aura of familiarity and comfort we all felt as we drove down Main Street of this sleepy little town. We also, of course, came here to conduct another interview with Wasrabi--this time before the ISFL draft. Finally, we weren’t here under the cover of early morning darkness; no, this time Wasrabi invited us to stay for dinner.
My mind was wandering when our van pulled into the driveway of the familiar Colonial-style house, wandering back to the memory of the delicious ribs he made for breakfast that day. According to several reputable contacts in the media, word on the street was Wasrabi was already planning his foray onto the Food Network, and working out the details on a specially designed grill endorsement deal. The fact is, Gleel is a gourmand, and all of us were as excited for the interview as we were for the dinner afterwards.
With our gear in hand, we approached the front door of the home as another gust of cold autumn air chilled us and made me bury my chin in my scarf. Before I could even knock the door swung open. Towering in the doorway was Wasrabi Gleel, looking particularly fall-festive with a dark orange cable-knit sweater, grey sweatpants, and Oliver Peoples Cary Grant eyewear. He welcomed us effusively.
“Hey! If it isn’t Pam Pringle and the rest of my favorite media team, come on inside, let’s get you out of that cold air and into a nice warm chair! Welcome back!”
He hurried us inside to the living room where a tremendous fire raged in the hearth, flooding the room with warmth and the smoky scent of burning hardwood. There was a tasteful arrangement of chairs and sofas centered around the fireplace, and we all took a seat while Wasrabi dipped away to the kitchen. A moment later he returned with a tray of steaming mugs that he passed out to all of us.
“Here, I pressed the apples for this cider myself. There’s an orchard not more than 30 miles from here. 20 different varieties of apples! I only choose the best for my cider, though. I hope you like it!”
The heat from the mug felt good on my hands, as the tangy smell of hot apples mixed with the exotic scents of the various mulling spices Wasrabi had added for that extra kick and refinement. The hot cider nearly burned my lips, yet I felt its warmth spread to my stomach the whole way down. I needn’t tell you it was delicious.
“Thank you, Wasrabi.” I said after a couple more long sips.
“You can call me Rabi, if you like. My friends all do.” His smile betrayed the nonchalance he was attempting to affect his voice with.
“Rabi, sure. Mind if we get started with the interview? If it’s alright with you I’d rather get it done before dinner.”
“Absolutely! I’ll be able to whip up dinner in no time. Ask away.”
Come to think of it, other than the smoke from the fire and the intoxicating aroma of the mulled cider I didn’t smell anything else at all. Strange. I shook the thought of my empty stomach out of my head and regained my focus.
“I had a chance to talk with you earlier at the end of the season, obviously not the way you wanted your rookie season to end, but you remained optimistic in spite of everything. You had a solid season, and you felt confident that the Grey Ducks have some serious players for this upcoming season. I’d like to put all those questions aside for now, as we’ve already touched on them a bit before. I’d like to focus more on who Wasrabi Gleel is as a player, and where you hope your ISFL career will take you. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready. Lay it on me.”
“Who is Wasrabi Gleel?” I ask dryly. This question is more of test than anything, but I was curious about what his response would be. To my surprise he didn’t react immediately. His gaze became distant for a moment, and after some time he responded:
“Wasrabi Gleel is a steal.” He said matter-of-factly. “He’s a steal, and whichever team drafts him is going to get a ride-or-die player from day one. It’s not about the money for me, it’s about respect. It seems like money can buy a lot of things, but real bonafide respect is earned. You earn it by having integrity, by being there for all the highlights and lowlights. The legacy that I make? That’s my story. But that story is just words--and the team the pages. In time I’ll prove myself to be a franchise player.”
His response was thoughtful, and the cadence of his speech seemed to carry the weight of the sentiment behind his words.
“And do you think you’re ready to start your first chapter in the ISFL?” I took another sip of the cider. Now that it had cooled some it was easier to drink. He pondered the question for a moment before responding:
“I don’t think the book is closed on my DSFL career in the slightest. Because of the approaching ISFL draft it is easier to forget that the DSFL is where my career began. I haven’t forgotten the Grey Ducks in the least-bit. They took a chance on me, and I’m going to work my ass off to see them find that ultimate success. I owe it to them for that. If by some happenstance the ISFL team that drafts me wants me to play this season, I’d be open to that discussion, but my gut tells me that I’m coming back to Minnesota this season, and hells comin’ with me.”
“How has your approach to training changed in lieu of the coming draft?” This was a question my boss insisted I ask after photos of Gleel working out at a Gold’s Gym in California went viral. He looked significantly leaner in those photos, and I could see the lost pounds in his face even now as we talked.
“I’ve been working with a ton of personal trainers on boosting my agility. I wanted to prepare for the combine, because I knew I was a step or two slower than most of the elite linebackers in this class. Richard Leaking is a fucking cheetah, sister, I swear.”
“Are you satisfied with your combine results?”
“I don’t know if satisfied is the right word, but I wasn’t disappointed. I knew I wasn’t as athletic as some of the others in this class, but few out there can match the eye I have for the game. I was extremely pleased with my 38 wonderlic score. The way I see the game is like slow motion--which is great because sometimes it feels like I’m the one moving in slow motion!”
A few stifled laughs erupted from my crew around me. He continued answering:
“From here on out, though, I only have one thing on my mind: I want to be the strongest linebacker in the ISFL. I’m exclusively training on a powerlifting regiment from here on out, and I plan on bullying offensive linemen in the ISFL by the time I make my big debut. Keep your eyes peeled for that in the coming seasons ahead.”
“I see. You’re looking pretty fit right now.” I say, not immediately realizing the awkwardness behind that observation.
“Yeah, um, thanks.” He smiled for a moment before getting back to business, “Next question?”
“Yeah, sure, uhhh. . . Ah, right here. As a DSFL prospect you were taken with the 58th pick in the 8th round by the Minnesota Grey Ducks. What round do you envision yourself going in, and indulge us with a guess as to where you are going to end up.”
Again he took his time coming up with a response. We sat in relative silence, save for the crackling fire in the hearth, before he finally responded with:
“I think a lot of people slept on Gleel in the DSFL draft. I don’t blame them, it was easy to do. There are so many talented players in this class, it’s kinda hard to stand out. This time around, I think that GM’s are sleeping again, though not nearly as much. As you said previously, I had a solid rookie season. I’ve been telling everyone on Twitter that I’m going in the 4th round. That’s just the feeling I have right now. It’s a stark improvement from the 8th round, so I’ll take it, but also, I’m going to be a great pick. It’s better to be a steal than a reach, in my opinion. As for where I’m going. . . I can be honest in telling you that I have received no leaks at all, this is just a hunch, but I think I’m heading to Honolulu. They were very engaged during the scouting process, and I believe they have a need at the position. Who knows, though? Only time will tell.”
“This is probably a dumb question, but would you be happy in Honolulu?”
“I think it’s impossible to be unhappy while sitting on the Black Sand beaches of the Big Island, or burying your toes in the white sands of Maui.” He said this with a big grin. “But Pam, listen, my stomach is grumbling, I don’t know about you, but why don’t we put a pin in this interview for now and let me whip up my favorite go-to meal for you all? What do you say?”
Again my stomach let out an audible gurgle. I smiled sheepishly.
“Yeah, I-I guess I’m hungry too.”
“Well, I best go turn the oven on then.” He said before whisking himself away to the kitchen. Astonishingly enough, after 20 minutes of us going over the footage and having a second mug of mulled cider, he called out to us from the kitchen.
“Dinner is ready! ! !” The baritone of his voice practically shook the old house.
We took our seats at an antique mahogany dining table in the dining room. Some time during the twenty minutes we were going over the footage he must have set the table, because each place-setting had a meticulously designed china set in front of them: salad fork, dessert fork, entree fork, silk napkin, dinner plate, salad plate, water glass, wine glass (filled graciously with delicious red), and a coffee cup complete with a porcelain saucer. The anticipation was mounting. What sort of culinary creation would Gleel unleash on our unsuspecting palettes today?
"Here it is!” He proclaimed as he entered the dining room with a silver tray covered by a matching silver dome. He set the lidded tray at the center of the table as we all eagerly leaned forward in our seats to see what the chef had prepared for us.
“Itadakimasu!” He proclaimed in Japanese as he removed the silver dome from the platter.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. In the 26 years I’ve been alive I have never once witnessed this many Totino’s pizza rolls arranged into such a perfect pyramid. Even more stunning, however, was the realization that came shortly after--the realization that somehow, someway, none of these pizza rolls had exploded in the oven at all. Another previously unimaginable culinary achievement has been summited by this veritable God of Cookery: Wasrabi Gleel.
“But none of them have exploded? How did you do this?” I asked in astonishment. He just looked away coyly and smiled,
“Practice, my dear. Practice is everything.”
(2077 words)